


There's More to Life Than Books, You Know

by MoreMarrMoreMoz



Category: Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Books, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9460022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoreMarrMoreMoz/pseuds/MoreMarrMoreMoz
Summary: Where Morrissey's working in a book shop no one ever buys anything from and Johnny comes in and seduces him among the well-thumbed paperbacks.Not sure yet how long this will end up being, but I'm guessing maybe a 3/4 parter.





	

It's been a long morning already, and the clock hanging on the wall states it's only just gone eleven o' clock. There's been one customer so far today. ONE. And I'm not convinced he qualifies as a customer because he didn't actually purchase a book, instead unashamedly standing next to the heater for a warm. I wouldn't mind, but because no one ever buys anything days at the book store drag endlessly on, and although I'm surrounded by well-thumbed second-hand paperbacks with charmingly cracked spines there's only so much reading even I can do. I've reread Wilde, reread Keats. Flicked through a coffee-table book of black and white photographs of post-war Britain, which I thought might be interesting but was actually rather dull.

I head to the kitchenette, an off-shoot behind the desk which is little more than a cupboard really. Mr Matthews, the guy who owns the shop has fitted it out with no mod cons. There's literally one cupboard harbouring a half-eaten packet of Digestive biscuits and a rickety table supporting an electric kettle, two mugs (one with a chip on the lip, which always makes me feel queasy), a pack of cheap teabags and the remains of a bottle of milk. Oh, and a sink without a draining board. Needless to say, Mr Matthews hadn't splashed out on a fridge and had discarded the milk's silver-foil lid, allowing the many dust particles to settle on top of the white liquid. I'd started drinking my tea black since I'd been working here.

I fill the kettle and flick down the switch, grateful that at least this would pass some time. Six hours until home time, and I don't even get the luxury of a lunch break. There's no one to cover it, not with the boss away in the South of France, lucky git. I'll have to eat my sandwich here, and my apple. There's no escape, nothing to pull me out of the drudgery.

Whoever said a watched pot never boils lied, because eventually the water bubbles and the kettle clicks itself off. 

It's as I'm pouring the scalding water over the almost-square teabag that the jangle of the golden bells over the doorway alerts me to someone entering the shop. Turning, I see a familiar figure heading to the counter, framed by the rows of bookshelves.

Johnny. 

And fuck, does he look good. The usual tight jeans. Striped t-shirt. And a leather jacket which the vegetarian in me should detest, but can't, because he looks so damn hot. He's like a walking work of fucking art and my pulse quickens at his presence.

"Moz." He greets me with a nod and a lop-sided grin. "Busy as ever, I see?"

"Oh yeah," I joke, casting my eyes over the otherwise empty aisles. "Rushed off my feet."

He laughs, and it's like a song. God, everything about the guy is beautiful.

"Thought I'd come by," Johnny says, lazily brushing his fringe out of his eyes with his finger tips. His dark hair's longer than I've seen it before, and it falls right back over his eyes as quickly as he'd pushed it away. "See if you wanted some... company."

The final word is loaded as can be, even without the smug raise of his eyebrows under that floppy fringe.

I don't need asking twice. 

"I'd like that," I say finally, swallowing down my nerves.

"That's what I was hoping you'd say. Better turn that sign to closed and lock the door. Wouldn't want to get caught, would we?"

But for once I'm feeling maverick, Johnny's wild nature obviously rubbing off on me, because instead of obediently turning the key, I shake my head. "We'll be fine. No one ever comes in anyway."

His dark eyes widen in surprise. He's not used to me being like this. He's always the one in full control of our liaisons. "You're sure? You could get in deep trouble if anyone sees us together. You're meant to be working."

"And you're meant to be in a relationship with Angie."

He doesn't look put out at me mentioning his girlfriend, instead just shrugging it off.

"I am in a relationship with Angie. What we are...well, it's independent of that."

I don't let on that I have no clue what we are. I don't even care, really. All I can think is that Johnny's here, with me, and it might just be my lucky day.


End file.
